


cautionary ways

by mardia



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Now my cautionary ways are swept aside.</i> Five times that Jim Kirk didn't get to sleep with his best friend, and the time he finally did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cautionary ways

**[one.]**

The first time that Jim tries to sleep with Leonard McCoy, he's drunk off his ass and has been in San Francisco for all of three days.

Jim likes the city so far, but what he really likes is this dive bar he's managed to find. And McCoy. He really likes McCoy. He likes McCoy's mouth and his eyes and even that little furrow between his eyebrows as he looks at Jim. Which, hey, he's got right now, and Jim thinks about poking it with his index finger, just to see what McCoy will say.

But then another idea occurs to him, and Jim pushes himself up slightly on his elbows and declares, "I think we should have sex."

Normally Jim's a lot smoother than this, but McCoy—he needs to come up with a nickname for him—McCoy looks like the sort of guy who appreciates the direct approach.

The furrow between McCoy's eyebrows gets a little deeper, and he puts a hand over the top of Jim's glass. "Alright, I'm cutting you off."

Jim smiles as charmingly as he knows how. "That's all right, I'm ready to move onto other activities anyway." He tries an eyebrow waggle to see how it'll work on McCoy; from the dubious look McCoy gives him, it's not working too well. But something about the guy—the way the lighting hits his face, or how his hair's falling into his eyes, makes Jim unwilling to give up, gets him to lean in even closer, let his voice drop half an octave as he drawls out, "C'mon, McCoy. Promise we'll have fun."

McCoy just looks at him, mouth pursed, gaze hot and intense, and Jim shifts in his seat, his mouth suddenly dry—

But then McCoy's wrapping his hand around Jim's elbow and pulling Jim up to his feet. "C'mon, Jim," he says as he leads Jim out of the bar. "Let's get you into bed. _Alone,_" he adds pointedly when Jim opens his mouth.

And McCoy keeps his word, walking Jim back to the dorms, a steadying hand on Jim's arm, making sure that Jim gets home safe and in one piece, because as he puts it, "—it'll be a bad thing for Starfleet if one of their newest recruits dies in an alley outside a seedy bar in the middle of nowhere," and hello, San Francisco isn't the middle of nowhere, as Jim would like to point out, but his tongue seems to be unusually thick in his mouth at the moment, so maybe McCoy's right about postponing the sex to a later date. Jim wouldn't want him to be deprived of the full James T. Kirk sexual experience.

"Thanks, Jim, that's real thoughtful of you," McCoy grunts out as he helps Jim into his room where, thank God, his roommate's not—three days, and Jim's well aware that he's not going to get along with the guy at all, but moments like this definitely won't help—and Jim collapses into the bed with an 'oof'.

He picks his head up and peers down at where McCoy's tugging off his boots, one after the other. "You wanted me to take my clothes off, all you had to do was ask," he says.

"Haha, very funny," McCoy grumbles, standing back up to stare down at Jim, his hands on his hips. "Let me tell you, Pike did not mention this in his big recruitment pitch about the wonderful opportunities that Starfleet had to offer."

"Huh, is that how he got you?" Jim asks. "He just dared me."

McCoy stares at Jim for a moment, and then snorts. "Of course he did, he was probably trying to speak at your level. What, was it a double-dog-dare or something?"

But Jim's too distracted to respond, lost in the memory of that first shuttle ride, of seeing McCoy for the first time, scruffier than now, but just as outwardly fucked-up as Jim was.

"All I got left's my bones," Jim murmurs softly in recollection, and then a smile appears on his face. "That's your new nickname now," he tells McCoy, who's over at the tiny kitchenette, filling up a glass of water.

He comes back to the bed and holds it to Jim's mouth. "Here," he says. "Drink this. Maybe then you'll start making some damned sense."

Jim doesn't, but five minutes after he drinks it, he's fast asleep on the bed, so it doesn't make much difference.

 

**[two.]**

Bones, Jim's convinced, has the best hands in all of Starfleet Medical.

"You're _awesome_ at this, Bones," he slurs happily as the painkillers hit his system. Bones is checking out his injuries, his hands sweeping over Jim's body, a frown on his face as he's bitching about "those damned simulations, don't tell me they're perfectly safe, just _look_ at you—"

"M' fine, Bones, I swear," Jim promises, although considering the three busted ribs, the assorted bruises and cuts and other injuries he's got, Jim understands why Bones snorts at that and continues his muttered rant against simulations and space in general.

Jim's more than content to lie back and let Bones work his magic, especially if it means that Bones's hands will still be on his body. He can just sit back and let Bones take over, and that's why he'd specifically requested Bones when he'd been brought into the Academy hospital on a stretcher.

"Jim," Bones is saying now, "Jim, just focus for a second—"

"Mmn," Jim says, focusing on Bones's face again. "You have nice hands," he comments, and Bones's eyebrow shoots up.

"Thanks," he finally says, his voice drier than Vulcan in mid-summer. "Starting to think I should readjust your pain meds—"

"No, no, I mean it," Jim protests, and to prove it, he grabs one of Bones's hands, his thumb rubbing along the knuckles. "This is a nice hand, Bones." And he does mean it, Bones has great hands, big and warm, with long, steady fingers.

Bones is standing still, staring down at Jim with—well, Jim can't exactly figure out with what, not with his head as loopy as it is.

"I always like your hands," Jim insists, looking up at Bones and letting the truth spill out of him like water. "Just wish you'd touch me when I'm not injured, you know?"

Bones stares at him a moment longer, and then his gaze drops back down and away from Jim. "Yeah," he mutters. "_Definitely_ need to readjust the pain meds."

"But I mean it," Jim insists, his voice sounding plaintive to his own ears.

"Yeah, I know, Jim," Bones tells him, his voice gentle as he pulls his hand free. "Just tell me again when you're off the meds, okay?"

Jim doesn't tell Bones again. But Bones never brings it up, so Jim just figures he doesn't want to hear it.

 

**[three.]**

Being roommates with Bones comes with a ton of perks--having someone who can be coaxed into cooking real food on occasion, living with someone who's actually willing to put up with his shit, having Bones in the next bed over instead of having to run halfway across campus to find him, among other things.

That isn't to say it doesn't also come with some complications there too.

Like this afternoon for example. Jim's sitting at his desk, reading off his PADD--he's got a test on Friday that promises to be a nightmare, and Bones is in the bathroom, taking a shower.

By this point, Jim's gotten fairly good at not thinking about Bones in certain situations when he has to. It's a good defense mechanism he's perfected over the last six months of being roommates with the guy--and that means that he can concentrate on his PADD without getting distracted with thoughts of Bones in the shower, standing under the spray, water running down--

Right, no. Not thinking about it.

Jim does such a good job of not thinking about it and staying focused on his reading, that he barely notices when the shower's turned off, and he doesn't look up when the bathroom door opens and he hears the faint sound of Bones's footsteps.

It's not until Bones says casually from his side of the room, "Jim, have you seen my PADD?" that Jim looks up, and once he does, he promptly forgets everything he's read.

That's not surprising considering the sight in front of him--Bones, wearing only a towel, exposing miles and miles of warm golden skin with a smattering of freckles here and there, the sharp curve of a hipbone right above the place where Bones is holding the towel tight with one hand.

"Jim?" Bones repeats again. "Tell me you've seen my PADD around here someplace, I know I set it down right before I got into the shower."

"Uh," Jim says intelligently.

"'Uh' doesn't exactly help me here, Jim," Bones drawls, glancing up at him through a mess of dark, wet hair, which he scrapes back off his forehead impatiently with his free hand. His eyes narrow as they look at Jim, and Jim fleetingly thanks any random deity that might be listening that he'd perfected his innocent, nothing-to-see-here-Officer face _ages_ ago. "You look flushed, are you coming down with a fever or something?"

Oh shit. Bones is absolutely convinced that Jim can't be trusted to look after himself, which, okay, Jim admits that he might have given Bones some cause to think that. (Or a lot of cause, if he's being totally honest.) And most of the time, Jim actually _likes_ Bones's fussing over him, in the tiny corner of his head where he stuffs away all the issues he has from his parents and his mixed-up childhood, but he's definitely never going to _admit_ it, and there's a massive difference between Bones' usual fussing and Bones fussing over him while he's _barely covered up in a towel_, for God's sake.

"Jim? Do I need to pull out the tricorder here or--"

His brain's _malfunctioning_, that's the only explanation he can come up with for why on _Earth_ he'd look at Bones and actually say, "I'm just all hot and bothered because you look so fuckable in that towel."

There's a heartstopping second where neither of them say anything, and Bones's eyes grow wide, before they narrow again and he asks, "Do those lines of yours actually _work_ on real people?"

Crisis miraculously averted, and Jim smiles widely, ignoring both the rush of the relief (and deeper down, the small twinge that he refuses to admit is disappointment). "Come out with me tomorrow night and you can see for yourself," he offers, and Bones snorts.

"Why the hell not?" he grumbles, going back to his search for his PADD. "Somebody's got to make sure you get home in one piece."

Jim lets himself look at Bones's turned back, the profile of his face, for one more second, and then he determinedly goes back to his PADD.

He might or might not peek over at Bones again a couple more times, but if he does, nobody knows but him, and he's not telling.

 

**[four.]**

"Jim, you need to sleep."

"I'm fine," Jim insists, blinking slowly. The _Enterprise_ is limping back to Earth, repairs underway, and Jim feels like he's moving underwater, his limbs feel so heavy with exhaustion.

Bones doesn't look much better, unshaven, circles under his eyes. He's just come out of the surgery to remove the slug from Pike's spine, he's been checking on the numerous patients in Sickbay, and he looks almost as exhausted as Jim feels, even if he's not feeling the ache of bruises and cuts like Jim is.

Bones doesn't look much better than Jim, and he also looks totally unconvinced by Jim's assurances. "C'mon. You're no good to the ship and to everyone if you're falling dead on your feet. Everyone's safe."

Jim would protest more, but God, he is just so _tired_. It's like all the adrenaline he's been running on since he stepped onto this ship has finally leeched out of his pores, and now he's running on empty. Hell, he's not really running at all, he's just swaying on his feet, so exhausted that he can't even really stand up straight.

Plus, it's Bones. Bones likes to grumble about how much shit Jim convinces him into, but really, there's not much that Jim can really say no to Bones about, not the important stuff. And Bones has dark circles under his eyes and smuggled Jim onto the ship and Jim--Jim just can't tell him no.

"Fine," he mutters. "But you're coming with me," he adds, plucking at Bones's sleeve.

"I have to," Bones responds. "You were never assigned any quarters, and I know damn well I won't be able to convince you to take Pike's--" Jim inclines his head in agreement, because Bones is right on that, "--so you'll just have to stay in mine."

Jim doesn't bother arguing with that plan, just repeats, stubborn, "You're coming with me. You need sleep just as bad as I do." Bones frowns and opens his mouth to argue, but Jim just stares at him, hoping it looks commanding instead of bleary. "You need rest."

Bones closes his mouth and nods, taking Jim's elbow in his hand. "C'mon," he says, more gently this time. "Let's get you to bed."

Bones leads him through the hallways of the ship, his hand still gripping Jim's elbow, and Jim doesn't bother pretending that he can walk unaided, that his legs and feet haven't gone clumsy from fatigue.

He's so exhausted that he feels almost drunk, and when he stumbles over his feet for the second time, Jim hears Bones sigh softly, and then he wraps a steadying arm around Jim's waist, letting Jim throw his arm across his shoulder and lean in.

Eventually they're in front of a closed door, and Jim leans against the wall as Bones quickly types in the code, and then Bones is pushing him through, and pushing him down onto the bed. "C'mon, Jim," Bones urges quietly, and Jim groans, his body aching as he settles back against the pillows, lying on top of the sheets. "Get up under the blankets, c'mon now."

"No," Jim says, and his voice sounds childish to his own ears. "Need to be up in a few hours, can't--" his traitorous voice breaks on a yawn, dammit, "—I need to--"

"At least take your boots off," Bones urges, and Jim makes a half-hearted effort at sitting up, but his back, still aching from when Spock had slammed him into the console, protests, and he gives up. He's slept in worse.

But Bones is already there, tugging his boots off, one right after the other, and letting them drop on the floor with twin dull thuds. Jim makes a soft noise in response, and opens his eyes--when did he close them?--to look up at Bones, holding a hand out. "C'mere," he insists. "You need to sleep too."

The bed's not that big, but it also isn't small enough that it'll be completely impossible, and God, what's good for Jim should be good for Bones, and fine, if he has to make it an order, he will.

"As the acting cap--" he starts, but stops, because here, now, in this small room, it sounds ridiculous to say out loud, feel ridiculous to even think. They're just Bones and Jim right here, and Jim sighs, letting his head lol on the soft pillow. "Bones, c'mon. Just sleep here with me for a minute."

"I need to get back to Sickbay, Jim," Bones says, still hovering above him, and Jim frowns, pulling on Bones's arm. "Just--Jesus Christ, Bones. Do I have to make this an order?"

Bones's mouth twists in the ghost of a smile. "Very well, Captain." And Bones is as good as his word, sliding into the bed next to Jim, warm and solid against Jim's side. "Just for a little bit."

"Nn," Jim responds, his eyes already sliding shut. "Good."

But what feels like only a few moments later, through the haze of sleep, Jim can feel Bones's presence and warmth leaving the bed, and he has a confused jumbled impression of trying to grab at Bones before he went away, and when he finally wakes up, six hours later, he's alone in the bed and Bones is nowhere to be found.

Jim's still aching all over, and his body protests, loudly, as he pushes himself out of the bed, but he ignores it, pulling on his boots, and leaving the bed that's Bones's but smells like him.

When he goes into Sickbay, to check on the patients and to look in on Pike, Bones is there, looking more exhausted than ever, and he shoots Jim a half-rueful, half-defiant look, like he's silently saying, _What did you expect?_

This time, Jim tells Bones to go to bed, and he makes it an order. Pike, half-conscious on the biobed, backs him up, and Bones grumbles and groans but hands the Sickbay over to another doctor named M'Benga, and heads off to his quarters to hopefully get some sleep.

 

**[five.]**

Jim doesn't need to look over at Bones to know that Bones is glaring--more importantly, that Bones is glaring at _him_, right in the middle of an away mission when they're supposed to be making the very best impression they can on their hosts.

Although, given the tiny, really almost insignificant deception that Jim's currently in the middle of, he knows exactly why Bones is glaring at him right now.

It's not until right before the state dinner that Bones gets a chance to pull him aside and demand, "Jim, just what the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"What?" Jim asks, playing innocent. "I'm just trying to come away from these trade negotiations with a successful mission completed."

Bones's eyebrow is pulling off some serious contortions right now, and he drawls out in a tone of extreme sarcasm, "And the success of our mission depends on you letting the Delmarians think that you and I are _married_?"

"I didn't let them think--"

"You didn't _stop_ them from thinking it either, and don't pretend like you don't know that was the impression they were coming away with--" Jim can't really argue there, after all, it was the impression Jim _wanted_ them to have, and all so that princess would stop _looking_ at Bones like he was up for sale just like the other things on the negotiating table.

But Bones doesn't know that. All Bones knows is that when the Delmarians started asking their not-at-all-subtle questions, Jim had just smiled and led them into thinking that he and Bones were Married with a capital M.

Jim sighs. "Look, I--you're right, it was stupid. You want me to go back in and correct them, I can--"

"Oh, so they can start distrusting every word that comes out of your mouth? Forget it, we'll deal," Bones says automatically, but his forehead's still furrowed, and he's still looking at Jim like he's trying to work out what's going on in Jim's head.

But Jim just gives him a relaxed smile and claps his hand on Bones's shoulder. "C'mon," he says, "We should head back in."

The away team isn't staying on Delmara overnight, so Jim never gets to find out if he and Bones would have been put in the same bed, maybe the presidential suite, as a supposedly married couple, and neither one of them brings it up again.

 

**[and the one that stuck.]**

When it finally happens, Jim's not drunk. He's not on pain meds, he's not in any state of shellshock, they're not on an alien planet, and most importantly, he doesn't take it back once he finally says it.

They're in Bones's quarters at the end of their shifts, sharing some of the bourbon Bones keeps stashed in his desk. Jim's only had half a glass, and the alcohol's not strong enough to be the reason why his throat's closing up as he looks at Bones across the desk.

And it's not that Bones looks _particularly_ handsome on this night, he always looks good to Jim, but right now he just looks like himself, like Bones, like the guy that's been right there by Jim's side for almost five years, and suddenly the words are springing up, without any real fear attached to them.

"Come to bed with me, Bones."

Bones's eyes grow wide, and Jim waits for whatever he's going to say next, and then finally Bones asks, a thread of wariness in his voice, "Just for tonight?"

His heart's starting to pound, but Jim says, his voice still somehow steady, "No, not--not just tonight."

Bones looks at him for a long, long moment, and then finally says, his voice steady, "Okay."

Jim blinks, unable to quite believe what he's hearing. "Okay?" he echoes. "Seriously?"

"Jim," Bones says, a smile starting to appear on his face, "of _course_ it's--you just had to _ask_, you moron--"

"I _did_ ask--" Jim starts indignantly, but stops mid-sentence, because--well, he hadn't, really. Not in any way that counted, not like right now.

And besides, Bones is looking at him with that familiar look of fond exasperation, and he's saying _yes,_ and there are far better things that Jim could be doing right now.

Bones is already out of his chair by the time Jim comes around the desk, and Jim isn't sure which one of them actually leans in first, but then somehow, incredibly his mouth is on Bones's, it's Bones's shirt he's clutching in his hands, keeping him close.

Bones is the first one to pull away, but only so he can rest his forehead against Jim's and insist, "All you had to do was _ask_, I would have said _yes_, since when do I tell you anything _else_—"

Jim groans at that, low in his throat, and starts kissing Bones again, desperate, panting, "I'm asking, fuck, Bones, I'm asking, please—"

And now Bones is pushing him backwards, hands tight on Jim's hips as he guides them, and they stumble towards the bed and Jim's falling backward, Bones on top of him. When his back hits the mattress, he lets out a puff of breath against Bones's mouth, and then quickly flips them over so Bones is beneath him, spread out on the sheets with Jim straddling his hips.

When he pulls back from the kiss to look at Bones, Bones looks him right in the eye and says, voice gruff and breathless at the same time, "I'm saying yes, Jim. You got that?"

Jim takes a moment to stare at him, his ruffled hair, the light in his hazel eyes, and has to grin, can't do anything but. "Yeah," he breathes out. "I'm think I'm starting to.


End file.
